


A Lute Unstrung

by veronamay



Category: Jeeves & Wooster
Genre: Jeeves POV, M/M, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-14
Updated: 2005-11-14
Packaged: 2017-11-27 05:30:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veronamay/pseuds/veronamay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeeves's reaction to the cottage fire in Chuffnell Regis (series 2 of the show or "Thank You, Jeeves", whichever applies.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lute Unstrung

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://cicerothewriter.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://cicerothewriter.livejournal.com/)**cicerothewriter** for beta-reading and hours of enjoyable discussion.
> 
> Title stolen from Wilde's poem "Silentium Amoris".

I must first of all emphasise that, contrary to popular opinion, it was not my immediate intention to direct matters in the way they were eventually resolved. Upon my arrival in Lord Chuffnell's household I wished for nothing more than to regain my former detachment and remove Mr Wooster from my thoughts.

However, when fate hands one an opportunity, one would be a fool not to make use of it.

When one develops an attachment to an employer, the only approved course of action is silence if one is to maintain one's position. Silent I had been for some weeks, until Mr Wooster commenced his pursuit of the banjolele. I confess it was not merely our disagreement over the abominable noise of the instrument which effected my leave-taking; irritating as that was, I could have devised some means of removing the thing from the flat without undue effort. It was rather my inability to deal with my growing _tendre_ for Mr Wooster that motivated me to give notice. The banjolele was only a convenient excuse.

Nonetheless, I did not wish to remove myself entirely from Mr Wooster's sphere. Lord Chuffnell's offer of employment was a timely one, and I was quick to accept. While in his employ I would be able to remain in close contact with Mr Wooster and yet establish some distance from his astonishing personality. Perhaps over time the separation would help me to regain my customary poise. If I also entertained the hope that Mr Wooster, seeing me every day at Chuffnell Hall, would so strongly regret our estrangement that he conceded the instrument and begged for my return – well, there is no need to admit such a thing. I did nonetheless experience a petty satisfaction in the matter of my replacement in Mr Wooster's household. The man Brinkley - I will not honour him with any other sobriquet - was substandard in every department and would ensure that Mr Wooster felt my absence all the more.

It was with mixed emotions that I bade farewell to Mr Wooster. I knew of course that we should meet again soon, but he was unaware of my new situation, and the look of betrayed surprise he still wore made me hesitate before I finally left the flat.

The events that took place in Chuffnell Regis I shall assume are already well-known, as Mr Wooster has written extensively about the episode. I will not revisit them in detail, for there are several moments which I am keen to erase from my memory. Rather, I will recount the after-events, once Mr Wooster and I had mended our relations.

I remained silent during our journey back to London. Mr Wooster's near-death experiences in Chuffnell Regis, added to his selfless actions regarding Lord Chuffnell and Miss Stoker, had roused my emotions to such an extent that I was uncertain of my ability to appear unruffled. Mr Wooster has ever been quick to detect changes in my countenance, and he confronted me directly upon our return.

"What's the matter, Jeeves? You've been quiet as the grave since we got back," he said. We were in the master bedroom of the flat, surveying the remains of his wardrobe while I made a list of what needed replacing. I suppressed a wince at his choice of words.

"I have been musing over recent events, sir," I said as neutrally as possible. "It was a memorable experience."

"That's one way to put it," he agreed, frowning at the empty hangers before him. "You could also call it a bally nuisance, if you like. How am I going to replace all the things I lost in that fire, Jeeves? It took nearly everything I had."

I refrained from comment. In truth, there were some items I was not sorry to have lost. The lemon-yellow waistcoat, for example, and the blue polka-dot tie .... This was perhaps the silver lining, that I should at last have the opportunity to refit my employer in more suitable clothing. I had contemplated his person many times with this view in mind (among other, less sartorial concerns), and I had compiled several mental lists on the subject.

"It is unfortunate, sir," I said, "but I think we will be able to find appropriate replacements. I took the liberty of telephoning your tailor yesterday and ordering several new suits. The first of them should arrive tomorrow afternoon."

Mr Wooster looked at me gratefully. "Bless you, Jeeves," he said, collapsing on the bed. "I knew you'd have wheels and plans and things in motion. I really don't know what I'd do without you."

"Thank you very much, sir," I replied, for I was moved, but it was an awkward moment. The ghost of our rift hovered in the air. Mr Wooster noticed my distraction and sat up, his expression concerned.

"Are you sure you're up to snuff, Jeeves?" he asked. "You had the rummiest look on your face just now. Not feeling ill, are you?"

"Not at all, sir," I said. "I was struck by an unpleasant memory, but the moment has passed."

Mr Wooster seemed wholly unaffected by his narrow escape, brushing off Brinkley's attack as nothing more than another misadventure. I was not so sanguine, for aside from any other emotion I felt no little guilt at having been the cause of his troubles. Had I not left his service, Brinkley would never have come within miles of us and Mr Wooster's life would never have been endangered. It was due to his own remarkable actions that Mr Wooster had foiled death not once, but twice in the space of a single hour. Although I had immediately taken matters in hand once I discovered Brinkley's activities, the thought that I might very well have been too late was a sobering one that I knew would stay with me for some time.

Upon examining the strength of my feelings, which were not unchanged but in fact stronger since our estrangement, I had decided to return to Mr Wooster's employment. He is an exceedingly amiable and kind gentleman, but his propensity for schemes and the recklessness of his friends leaves him vulnerable to further mishaps, and I should not forgive myself if he were to suffer hurt when it was in my power to prevent it. My own feelings were of no moment. Mr Wooster had endured ridicule, imprisonment and ill repute at my instigation; I could not cavil at repressing my emotions if it meant ensuring his safety and contentment.

So I told myself, at least. If a small voice whispered of the pleasures of assisting in Mr Wooster's daily bath, of dressing him in perfectly pressed evening wear or seeing his sleepy smile upon his awakening every day, I chose to ignore it.

Mr Wooster was still looking at me, his expression now hesitant. He was clearly thinking of our _contretemps_ , wondering whether discussion was merited now that our relations were again amiable. I awaited his words with some trepidation. I knew it would be safest to say nothing of my own aims in settling affairs in Chuffnell Regis, yet a rebellious part of me wanted to declare myself, claim what I desired and damn the consequences. No doubt this was my oft-lamented Viking strain coming to the fore once more. I was unsure whether I could contain the impulse, but I could not excuse myself while Mr Wooster wished to talk. Our _rapport_ was not yet complete, and to disrupt him now would cast a shadow on the reunion.

"I've been thinking some dashed unpleasant thoughts myself, Jeeves," he said at last. "I'm glad Chuffy got his troubles sorted out, of course - mostly due to your usual brilliance - but the Wooster balance sheet is looking rather in the black. Or is it red?"

"Red, sir, if I take your meaning correctly," I said. "Red denotes a negative balance or loss in financial matters."

"Red, then. I mean to say, Chuffy and La Stoker are in the pink, and Pop Stoker and Sir Roderick are going to be raking in the green stuff, whereas I am left feeling distinctly pale." He sighed and slumped on the bed again, returning his gaze to the wardrobe. "These past weeks have not left Bertram at his usual sparkling best, Jeeves. I have been unfairly slandered, falsely imprisoned, my worldly goods burned to a whatsit and it is now widely assumed among the folk of Somersetshire that I am partial to kipping in sheds." He looked at me, his weariness all the more striking for its rarity. "I do not kick at making sacrifices when the situation calls for it, as you know, but on this occasion I confess to wishing the whole dashed lot of them would fall off a cliff – Pauline Stoker and J. Washburn most of all."

I could not bear to see his bright face so marred with unhappiness – unhappiness largely as a result of my actions. I was compelled to raise his spirits if I could. The praise that comes from love does not make us vain, but more humble; with this in mind, I spoke somewhat more freely than is my usual wont.

"If you will permit, sir," I said, "I should say that you acted remarkably well under extremely trying conditions. The loss of your possessions is a severe blow, but I shall attempt to remedy the inconsistency as soon as practicable. In my opinion, sir, I believe the experience will leave you stronger and more resilient. Though regrettable in every way, it was a character-building event, sir."

Mr Wooster's face lit up instantly, and he looked at me with unmistakable affection. It was startling to see the change in him; he sat up straighter and his furrowed brow became smooth once more. I had not imagined my words could evoke such a response.

"Dashed good of you to say, Jeeves," he said. "I don't mind telling you that I was a bit pipped from time to time, especially when Pop Stoker had me in his clutches. I mean to say, Pauline's a good egg – none finer, I dare say – but Bertram is not the bird for her. If you hadn't smuggled me off that boat I shudder to think what would be occurring right now." He actually did shudder for a moment, the sight of which caused some restlessness in my bearing. I cleared my throat discreetly and looked away until he resumed speaking. "No, Jeeves," he continued, "this Wooster is, as you say, one of Nature's bachelors, and content to remain so."

I would not go so far as to say his words gave me hope, but I did feel some relief. Mr Wooster's most trying habit in the past has been his tendency to involve himself – not always willingly – with unsuitable females, many of whom are delightful in the singular but who would be inimical when paired with Mr Wooster in matrimony. I did not care to examine any deeper feelings I had on the subject; it was enough to hear his decision and see from his countenance that he meant every word.

"Very good, sir," I said, for want of anything more appropriate. "Would you like to bathe before dinner?"

"Would I, what!" Mr Wooster replied enthusiastically. "But my bathrobe perished in the fire. I don't suppose you keep a spare anywhere?" His face fell somewhat. "And I've lost my rubber duck, as well. This is a blister of a predicament, Jeeves, I have to say."

I did indeed keep a spare robe among my effects when travelling, though unfortunately I did not have a spare rubber duck to hand. I ran the bathwater while Mr Wooster doffed his soiled clothing, then proceeded to my room to obtain the article. Finding it in my baggage beneath my own bathrobe, I was struck by a strong urge to substitute one for the other. To see Mr Wooster fresh from his ablutions, swathed in the folds of my intimate apparel, our scents mingling in the fabric ....

I could not resist. Folding the dark green towelling into a neat square, I composed myself and returned to the bathroom, now filling with wisps of steam. Mr Wooster was already submerged, for which I was grateful; my self-control was at a low ebb. I put the robe within his reach and began to withdraw. Only when I was near the door did I allow myself a single glance – but that glance caused me to stop as if struck by lightning.

Beneath the dirt and boot polish Mr Wooster was a mass of bruises and scratches, no doubt obtained during his flight from the burning cottage and his hours spent in the open. He did not seem to be in undue pain – indeed, he scarcely seemed to notice the injuries – but I found myself transfixed. The paleness of his skin contrasted with the red-and-purple contusions dotting his torso, a dappling effect which I found simultaneously vulgar and entrancing. I could not look away. The sight brought home to me once again the peril he had suffered, and my emotion manifested in a sharply indrawn breath, clearly audible in the quiet.

Mr Wooster looked round at me and frowned. Then he followed my gaze down to his chest, his face clearing.

"The scars of honourable battle, Jeeves," he said airily. "Nothing to worry the old bean about. They don't even hurt, see?" He prodded at a particularly deep-looking bruise and winced. "Well, not much, anyway."

"If you say so, sir," I murmured, my eyes now fixed on the wall opposite. "Shall I fetch the iodine?"

Mr Wooster made a face and sank down under the water.

"Oh, if you must, Jeeves," he said. "Go on; I shan't be in here much longer."

I retreated to the kitchen to assemble a first aid kit, glad I was no longer in the close confines of the bathroom. I am a man of moderate passions, but the sight of Mr Wooster's body covered in such markings had incited an unfamiliar turmoil in me; I wished to subdue my baser instincts lest I disgrace myself.

It seemed only a few moments passed before Mr Wooster joined me in the kitchen, clad in my green robe. I was dumbstruck by the image, as I had known I would be; I must have concealed my reaction, however, as he entered the room without hesitation and sat down at the table. I stared dazedly at his naked collarbone, bisected by a deep red scratch, and questioned the wisdom of my being here. Sitting next to the object of my newfound desires, he ensconced in my bathrobe and nothing else, the door between us and the world safely locked and no-one of our acquaintance yet knowing of our return....

"Jeeves?" Mr Wooster asked, and I snapped my gaze to the table, busying myself with rearranging the iodine and cloths I had procured from the cupboard.

"If you would direct me to the worst of the scratches, sir—" I began, but I fell silent when he reached out and stilled my hands with his own.

"It's no good, Jeeves," he said, and his tone was so warm I looked up involuntarily. Mr Wooster was smiling at me, squeezing my hands, his – my – robe falling open over his chest as he leaned toward me.

"Sir?" I said, feigning ignorance, but he was having none of it.

"Don't 'sir' me, Jeeves. I know what you're doing, and you can bally well stop it right now."

My heart stopped. I looked straight into his eyes, fearing the worst: realisation, disgust, anger. Those things I was, if not prepared for, at least expecting; what else could a man in Mr Wooster's position feel on discovering his most trusted employee's improper feelings?

I had not reckoned on the extent of Mr Wooster's own attachment to me. Instead of rejection and instant dismissal, I saw in his gaze a reflection of my own heart – love, affection, need, desire.

"Sir?" I said again, my heart now thumping in my chest. Mr Wooster tutted and shook his head.

"You cannot bamboozle me, Jeeves," he said. "We Woosters are possessed of a sixth sense when it comes to these things. You're all tied up in knots because your replacement put the young master's life at risk, and you're feeling guilty on top of that because the effort required to tally things up between Chuffy and Pauline was detrimental to self, not to mention getting Sir Roderick out of the soup. 'How much can a single man bear?' you are asking yourself. Now, I admit during our earlier conversation I was feeling somewhat less than oojah-cum-spiff, but Bertram is, as you have said, a resilient fellow. A bit of soap and water has done wonders for my outlook on life. All I lack is a really topping suit; if I had one, and a dinner to wear it for, I think I could take on the world." He patted my hands and let go, sitting back and sighing expansively. "No, Jeeves, I demand you cease this long-faced mooning at once. We are back where we belong, and barring a few necessities there is nothing whatever for you to sniff at. All's well that ends well, as the fellow said."

I was at a loss. I could readily swear to what I had seen in Mr Wooster's face; yet his words, while affable and easy, were devoid of deeper emotion. For the first time in recent memory, I had no idea what to do.

Well. There were still Mr Wooster's wounds to be seen to, regardless. I coated a length of cotton fabric with iodine solution.

"I shall endeavour to do as you suggest, sir," I said at last. "Meanwhile, if you could show me the cuts which need attention, I will see what can be done about them."

Mr Wooster was silent. I maintained my gaze on the tabletop, not daring to look up and suffer a second disappointment; then I felt his hand beneath my chin, raising my eyes to his.

"Jeeves, you're a perfect idiot," he said, and his smile was blinding. Before I could move or even draw breath, he lunged out of his chair and threw himself on me, winding his arms around my neck and settling his knees across my thighs. I clutched at him in amazement, my calm demeanour utterly shattered.

He leaned down, quite close, and looked directly into my eyes.

"Sorry, old thing. I couldn't resist a bit of teasing, you know." He widened his eyes at me, and my mind finally caught up to what my body was telling me, _id est_ : he returned my feelings; we were still protected by a locked door; and it would be wise to take advantage of these circumstances forthwith.

I tightened my grip on him and stood up, heading toward the master bedroom without delay. Mr Wooster – Bertram, as he now insists I call him – let out a muffled high-pitched noise and began to kiss my neck, whereupon I walked into the doorframe.

"Sir – Bertram," I said breathlessly, "you must stop doing that for a moment, or I fear I will drop you."

He stopped for the merest of interludes, but it was enough to allow me to approach the bed. We fell atop it in a tangle of limbs, Bertram instantly wrapping himself around me once again, and I proceeded to explain in no uncertain terms the depths of my regard for him.

The details of the next few hours I will not divulge. Suffice to say we were neither of us fit for public consumption for quite some time, and that neither of us particularly cared. When we could no longer sustain physical activity, we lay entwined, talking in quiet voices as though fearing interruption.

"I'm curious about one thing, Jeeves," Bertram said. He pressed a kiss to my collarbone, where his head presently lay. "What brought all this on?" He gestured down at our state of _deshabille_.

"Well, si—Bertram," I said, "it was the news of Brinkley's assault and the fire at the cottage that unsettled me. I was quite concerned for your safety. If I am truthful, it was this report that prompted my attempts to resolve matters in Chuffnell Regis to everyone's satisfaction." I coughed slightly, indicating embarrassment. "I had no wish to remain longer in Lord Chuffnell's employ, whether his engagement to Miss Stoker continued or no."

"I say, Jeeves," Bertram said in astonishment, leaning back to look at me. "Do you mean to say you masterminded that entire situation just to square things up so you could come back with me?"

When I nodded, he smiled another brilliant smile and tried to press himself even closer to me, covering my face and neck with kisses.

"You are a marvel, Jeeves," he said in my ear. "Don't ever leave me, old thing. I'd never make it without you."

"You shall never have to try," I whispered, and we were silent for a time.


End file.
